■ ■ 







; ■ 
■ 

i; H H H 







m 













* V "V 























++# 



&°+ 











HADLEY BALLADS 



CHICAGO 
THE OPEN COURT PUBLISHING COMPANY 

London Agents: 
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO. 

i9°3 



'9*3 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS; 

Two Copies Receivoc 

AUG °A 1903 

Cepy tight Entry 
•'CLASS «L- XXc. No 

£ 3 3 % % 

COPY 8. 



Copyright, 1903, 
By JULIA TAFT BAYNE. 



CONTENTS. 



• 

PAGE 

The Hadley Weathercock 7 

The Deerfield Bell 10 

Fate ? God 13 

Our Neighbor 14 

Molly Webster 17 

In Whately Glen 20 

The Angel of Rescue 21 

-Hepatica 25 

The Bird-Song 26 

Precedent 27 

God's Rooster 29 

The Old Apple-Tree 32 

Anemone 34 

Memorial Day, 1893 36 

Greylock 38 

Tell Us the Story, Veterans ! 40 

Forefathers' Day 42 

Daffadowndilly 43 

The Soldier of the Monument 45 

A Disappointed Daughter 47 

Corn, the National Emblem 48 

The Lesson of History 49 

On Southampton Beach 50 

Arbor Day 51 

The Hadley Elms 52 



Untrofcuctton, 



MANY of these poems are familiar, as they are 
included in Warner's The World's Best 
Literature and other anthologies. Busy in other 
lines of literary work, Mrs. Bayne has neglected to 
make any collection of her poems. Her sons and 
daughter have gathered these from The New- 
England Magazine, The Independent, The Youth's 
Companion, St. Nicholas, Springfield Republican 
and Hartford Courant, into this little volume which 
they present to their mother as a birthday gift, 
knowing also that it will give pleasure to her many 
friends. They can offer nothing better, as an intro- 
duction to The Hadley Ballads, than this letter, one 
of many received by Mrs. Bayne from Mr. Charles 
Dudley Warner : 

Library of the 

World's Best Literature, 
93 Fifth Avenue, 

New York, Sept. 17, 1897. 

My dear Mrs. Bayne : 

I was very glad to hear from you, in reply to 
my request, and to know that you are still doing 
good work. You will be sure to be doing that 

5 



6 1NTR OB UCTION. 

wherever you are. It does not make so much 
difference whether we publish what we do or not, — 
the little time we are in this world, — the thing is to 
be serviceable in our generation and that you are. 

I like more, the oftener I read, your Hadley 
Weathercock. It is a real poem of the kind that 
appears only now and then. It has that rare merit 
particularity with the widest generalization. Your 
poems satisfy the mind for local picturesqueness 
and they have the wide sweep which marks all great 
thought. The Hadley Weathercock was hailed with 
delight by my assistants, with the remark that it 
would give distinction to our volume of poetry. 

Accept the assurance of my great regard. 
Yours sincerely, 

Chas. Dudley Warner. 



XTbe IfcaMes Meatbercocfc, 



ON Hadley steeple proud I sit, 
Steadfast and true, I never flit, 
Summer and winter, night and day, 
The merry winds around me play, 
And far below my gilded feet 
The generations come, and go, 
In one unceasing ebb and flow, 
Year after year in Hadley street. 
I nothing care, I only know, 
God sits above, He wills it so; 
While roundabout and roundabout and 

roundabout I go, 
The way o' the wind, the changing wind, 
the way o' the wind to show. 

The hands that for me paid the gold 
A century since have turned to mould; 
And all the crowds who saw me, new, 
In seventeen hundred, fifty-two. 
[A noble town was Hadley then, 
And beautiful as one could find,] 
Dead, long years dead, and out of mind, 
Those stately dames and gallant men ! 

7 



THE HADLEY WEATHERCOCK. 

But I abide, while they are low. 
God ruleth all, He wills it so : 
And roundabout, and roundabout, and 

roundabout I go, 
The way o' the wind, the changing wind, 
the way o' the wind to show. 

The wind blew south, the wind blew north, 
I saw an army marching forth, 
And when the wind was hushed and still, 
I heard them talk of Bunker Hill. 
From Saratoga, bold Burgoyne 

[His sullen redcoats, past the town 
To Aqua Vitae's plain marched down,] 
In Hadley mansion stop't to dine. 
The new State comes ! The King must go ! 
Glory to God who wills it so ! 

And roundabout, and roundabout, and 
roundabout I go, 

The way o' the wind, the changing wind, 
the way o' the wind to show. 

The wind blows east, the wind blows west 
In Hadley street the same unrest, 
On every breeze that hither comes, 
I hear the rolling of the drums, 

And well do I know the warning; 

The wind blows north, the wind blows south, 
The ball' has left the cannon's mouth, 

And the land is filled with mourning. 

In Freedom's name they struck the blow. 
The Land is One, God wills it so. 



THE HADLEY WEATHERCOCK. k 

And roundabout, and roundabout, and 

roundabout I go, 
The way o' the wind, the changing wind, 

the way o' the wind to show. 

Though all things change upon the ground, 

Unchanging, sure, I'm ever found. 

In calm or tempest, sun or rain, 

No eye inquires of me in vain. 
Though many a man betrays his trust, 

Though some may honor sell, or buy, 

Like Peter some their Lord deny, 
Yet here I preach, till I am rust, 

Blow high, blow low, come weal, or woe, 

God sits above, He wills it so. 
Then roundabout, and roundabout, and 

roundabout I'll go, 
The way o' the wind, the changing wind, 
the way o' the wind to show. 



TOe H>eerftelt> BelL 



" A bell sent from France to a Jesuit Mission in Canada, was 
seized and sold to the church at Deerfield, Mass., February 28th, 
1703, three hundred French and Indians surprised that town, 
killed about forty, destroyed the town, and took nearly one hun- 
dred captives to Canada, and recaptured the bell." 

1HEAR a bell ring soft and low, 
I hear a bell across the snow, 
I hear a bell of long ago 

Ring, Miserere, Domine! 

In France the chapel bell is blessed 
For those dark converts of the West 
Who lately the true faith confessed. 
Ring, Gloria tibi, Domine! 

There, in strange lands beyond the sea, 
Wan Jesuits labor patiently, 
" Lord, we have given up all for Thee." 
Ring, Miserere, Domine! 

With lights and flowers the altar's spread, 
The priest his christening prayer has said, 
And holy water o'er it shed. 
Ring, Gloria tibi, Domine! 

10 



THE DEERFIELD BELL. II 

Wild winds, rough billows, bore it well, 
Worse fate than shipwreck then befell, 
The heretics have seized the bell ! 
Ring, Miserere, Domine! 

" Lo, Israel shall divide the prey ! 
Take yonder goodly bell," they say, 
" And send it where the faithful pray 
Exaltabo te, Domine I 

" Such loss may well the Papist share, 
Nor tawny Amalek shall dare 
Uplift a cross, or chant a prayer, 
Quis habitabit, Domine?" 

Oh, blind! when shall the light befall? 
On your God, priest and Indian call, 
The One Great Father, over all, 
Ring, Omnia gentes plaudite. 

In Puritan meeting-house thou'rt hung, 
Oh, chapel bell of silver tongue ! 
No altar lights, nor incense flung, 
In te speravi, Domine I 

Tho' low the walls, and sternly bare, 
Thou blessest all the foreign air 
With thy sweet call to praise and prayer. 
Te benedicam, Domine! 

From Deerfield meeting-house it rings, 
The notes fly out like angel wings ; 
On ambushed ears that music stings. 
Quare fremuerunt, Domine? 



THE DEERFIELD BELL. 

Think ye the Indian will forget? 
Think ye he will not pay the -debt ? 
Lo ! Deerfield's sun in blood has set ! 
Ne in furore, Domine! 

Oh, brimming cup of deepest wo ! 
Her men are slain, her town is low, 
The mournful remnant captive go. 
Ring, De profundis, Domine! 

Under the cold and pitiless skies, 
I see them climb the farthest rise ; 
An unknown way before them lies. 
Ring, Miserere, Domine! 

Wend slowly northward, captive train ! 
Ye know not, in your grief and pain, 
The Lord shall bring his own again ! 
Ring, Gloria tibi, Domine! 

I hear a bell ring soft and low, 
I hear a bell across the snow, 
I hear a bell of long ago 

Ring, Miserere, Domine! 

Hadley, Mass. 



jfate? (Bofc* 



INAUDIBLE voices call us, and we go ; 
Invisible hands restrain us, and we stay ; 
Forces unfelt by our dull senses sway 
Our wavering wills and hedge us in the way 
We call our own, because we do not know. 

We creep reluctant through Pain's darkened room 
To greet Life's dearest Joy the other side; 
We linger, laughing, where the ways divide, 
Saying, " So choose I," while we front, blind- 
eyed, 

Danger's red signal, yea, black, imminent doom! 
We knock impatient on To-morrow's door, 
Behind which Sorrow sits ; nor evermore 
Shall anything be as it was before, 

Nor sweet To-day's unheeded rose rebloom. 

Are we, then, slaves of ignorant circumstance? 
Nay, God forbid! We have the heavenly Guide, 
The Lamp of Life, the Way both sure and tried, 
If we but walk therein, nor stray outside. 

God holds the world, not blind, unreasoning 
Chance ! 



13 



<§>ur 1ftefgfobot\ 



HE sits at his door at close of day, 
Our strange sad neighbor over the way, 
No one of his own with him to stay; 
So alone he dwells, alone alway, 

In a house that was built in days of yore, 

With a high pitched roof and a carved front door. 

The ceaseless flight of our tennis ball 
To the lithe young player's merry call, 
Sweet songs of the birds at even-fall, 
The laughter of children through it all, — 
He heeds not, hears not, a day long sped 
Is present to him, he lives with the dead. 

"Is it not pleasant, oh, neighbor mine, 
To sit at your door in sweet sunshine? 
The grape blossom scent is poured like wine, 
Was ever a June before so fine ? " 

" Dark are the days to me, dreary and slow, 
And I ought to have died long years ago. 

For life grows bitter, and hope decays, 
And weary, weary the sunset days, 
Yea, owls and dragons, the Good Book says 
Shall dwell in their pleasant palaces." 

" But your long life surely some good has seen ? " 
" Few, few and evil my days have been." 

14 



OUR NEIGHBOR. 15 

" I pity, neighbor, your lonely plight 
And oftentimes in the chill midnight 
I've seen your wakeful candle alight ; " 
— His eyes are glittering now, and bright, — 
" Lonely? Oh no ! If you could but see 
Those who at midnight come to me ! 

" You call it my house, it is not so, 

It is theirs, the dead of long ago ! 

Still it is theirs, and above, below, 

Over the house they wandering go. 

Oh they call me queer, and a ' little out/ 
But I've seen strange sights, oh no doubt, no 
doubt. 

" Those of my race, I have seen them all, 
And one there is stern, and dark, and tall, 
Look ! there is his picture on the wall ! 
On his cheek the mark of a British ball ; 
As an elder, godly, a man of prayer, 
As a soldier, he dared what few may dare. 

" I know her footfall upon the stair 
And the scent of her rolled and powdered hair ; - 
I see her sitting erect and fair, 
Yonder, in that old fiddle-backed chair; 
A famous beauty, a toasted belle 
Was my great-grandmother, I've heard tell. 

" Oft when the storm with gusty rushes, 
At my door and window, shoves and pushes, 
Standing under the lilac bushes, 
Molly the witch, the lightning flushes, 
But she stays outside, she never comes in, 
And she curses all of our kith and kin. 



1 6 OUR NEIGHBOR. 

" Sometimes at nightfall, overhead, 
My mother puts ten children to bed. 
Her youngest, her baby's old white head 
Will soon, I hope, in the grave be laid ; 

Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust ! 

My time must be near ; oh, surely it must ! ' 

Sitting there, gilt with the sunset's gold, 
He and his house look old, so old ! 
While I think of the story he has told, 
The past's dim pictures, just unrolled ; 
But I wish, I wish I had eyes to see 
Our neighbor's most worshipful company ! 



flDollE Webster. 



HEARD ye e'er of Molly Webster, Molly Web- 
ster ye Hadley witch? 
Heavie her Curse hath layn vpon Hadley, feered on 

by Poore & Riche. 
Sold is shee, bodie & Spirit to Sathan, & worketh 

hys Will; 
For our God's hid Purpose, doubtless, is shee suf- 
fered to doe vs II. 
Shee hath caled ye Thunder from Heaven & fyre 

yt was lytt in Helle; 
Burn'd ye hous & Barne of her neighbor, shee 

laughed for it pleas'd her wel. 
She hath cast a Spel on ye Cattel yt they sould not 

passe her Doore, 
A great Load of Haye from ye Meddowe she turn'd 

wh a Finger o'er ! 
Ye bould Carter threat'd her with hys Whippe, 

" For surelie God is fayn 
To holp mee before a witch,'' sayd he, & shee 

turn'd it vp agen. 

* Mary Webster, of Hadley, " a notable witch," was examined 
in Boston gaol, before the Governor and Assistants, eleven years 
before the excitement at Salem, accused of bewitching the cattle, 
blighting the crops, etc. She was acquitted and returned with 
threats of revenge. The mysterious death of Lieut. Smith, " a 
selectman for the Affayres of the Toun," was laid at her door. 
The story is told by Cotton Mather in the " Magnalia." 

2 17 



1 8 MOLLY WEBSTER. 

By'r Word ye sleeping Infant hath binn Raysed 

from its Cradel Bedd, 
Vntouch'd of mortall hands wee have seen it wafted 

in Ayer o'er head! 
Shee hath noe feer of ye Salvage for they sarve ye 

same euil Lord; 
Oft, in ye guyse of a Walleneag* hee hath feasted 

att her Board. 
A black Henn flewe down our chimnie, & scalded 

itself in ye Pott; 
Come Morn, good wife Webster is scalded; wheyr 

got shee ye Burne? God wot! 
Ye Lawe of our God, yea of our Land allows not a 

Witch to live ; 
We send her to Boston, to General Court, yt they 

might a Judgment giue ; 
But they Deem'd ye Charge not Prooven, tho ye 

Truth was wh payns layd bare; — 
(Pray God it was not for her bright black eyes & 

her long curling hayr!) 
Shee hath cost ye Town full threescore Pounds & 

now shee is heer agayne, 
To laye a Blite on ye Rie, shee sayth, & to staye ye 

needful Rayn ; 
Yet moyer, our neighbor Philip Smith, she hath 

layd on a paynful bedd, 
Vext by an hideous Witchcraft, hee wishes, nay 

longs to bee Dead ! 
By tymes he hath rapturous Uision, & Cryeth inn 

feruant Prayr, 

* The Walleneag was the fisher, or black cat of the woods. 



MOLLY WEBSTER. 



*9 



" Lord, staie Thy hand, for ys is moyer than Thy 

f rayl Seruant mae bear ! " 
More oft with dyre Groanings and Tears, he wal- 
lows in myre of ye Ditch 
Digged for hys soul by yt own daughter of Sathan, 

ye Hadley witch! 
Ye healthful Potions ye Chirurgeon sends from ye 

gallipots Power out, 
Ye bedd vpheaues, ye hous is shaken, & ye stooles 

are hvrl'd aboute. 
Hee dy'd in ye Night, they say, prayse God, she 

may neuer vex him mower! 
(Ye bodie bled, & ye black catt mewed, yt Morn 

when shee passt his Doore!) 
Pray Christian peple who heere ys Tayl, whoever 

ye may bee, 
Pray for ye Peece of Hadley, for sorely try'd are 

wee! 
Pray yt our godly Ministers, wh Fast proclaymed 

& Prayer, 
May from Sathan the old Land-lord's* clutch 

thys fayre New England tear ! 
Yea thus hee kicks agaynst the pricks & hys Imps 

groe ouer Bold, 
As he sees yt land passe from his Power wh hee 

hath ouned of ould ! 

God keep vs alle from Salvages, God keep vs alle 

from Worse; — 
Ye Idyl Sport of wicked Fiends & Molly Webster's 

curse ! 

* Dr. Increase Mather called Satan " The old landlord and 
owner of America." 



Ifn XKIlbatels Glen. 



RONDEAU. 



IN Whately Glen the maples glow ; 
The year's last watchfires burning low ; 
From darkling grove of spruce and pine 
With flash, and glitter, and silver shine, 
The hurrying waters downward flow. 

And Nature's lovers thither go; 
For all their mistress' moods they know, 
And they shall see her fair and fine 
In Whately Glen. 

Upon the heights the breezes blow, 
The velvet hills range row on row 

Out to the far horizon line. 

Full draughts of Nature's choicest wine 
With lavish hand she doth bestow 
In Whately Glen. 



20 



TOe Hnaei of IRescue* 

HADLEY, SEPTEMBER I, 1675. 



JH beautiful Hadley meadows how fair you are 
to-night ! 
Glooming in purple shadow, glinting in amber 

light; 
With shimmer of silver poplars and pine trees' richer 

green, 
And the river winding slowly its emerald banks 

between. 
Oh dear and sweet Connecticut, in lands beyond the 

sea 
There is no storied river to be compared with thee ! 
No fairest foreign landscape so the heart with 

pleasure thrills 
As this, our happy valley, girt with eternal hills ! 
Yet through this smiling vale once swept the scathe 

of Indian ire 
And marked its deadly footprints here in massacre 

and fire. 

So softly dark the night came down, two hundred 
years ago, 

Only the wind among the pines, the river's murmur- 
ing flow, 

21 



22 THE ANGEL OF RESCUE. 

When yonder in their ancient fort, the council ring 

was set 
And Philip's wily messenger the Hadley Indians 

met. 
The white man's eyes are blind with sleep, his ears 

are dull and dead; 
He sees no dusky, gliding forms, he hears no steal- 
thy tread ; 
But when the morning brightens and the Hadley 

townsmen come 
To take the Indians' arms away, the empty fort is 

dumb.* 
Yet speaks of plotted treason, " for these Nipnet 

heathen cling 
Close as serpents' eggs together." (Eggs will 

hatch and serpents sting!) 

Oh sighing pines of Pocumtuck; green elms of 

Deerfield vale! 
Ye saw the Indian serpents coiled beside the narrow 

trail. 
Oh flower and crown of Essex youth, the glory of 

our host ! 
Ye are become the heathens' prey and miserably 

lost. 
For Essex's maids and matrons long shall wail their 

gallant dead; 
Like mourning Rachel shall they weep, nor shall be 

comforted.f 

* The Hadley Indians had promised to give up their arms but 
deserted to King Philip by night, 
t The massacre at Bloody Brook. 



THE ANGEL OF RESCUE. 23 

" Had not the Lord been on our side," the reverend 

elders say; 
" Our hearts had fainted utterly, after this dreadful 

day. 
" But the Lord hath sent His angel, we saw it with 

our eyes. 
" It was on a Fast-day morning, in time of exercise, 
" While reverend Mr. Russel did right painfully 

expound 
" Revelation eleven, three, with searchings most 

profound. 
" Behold the time approacheth and the sign is set 

on high ! 
" No longer shall His witnesses in deserts proph- 

esy.J 
" It cometh, it is at the door, the great Day of the 

Lord! 
" He will avenge His slaughtered saints according 

to His word. 
" So rapt were we from things of sense in holy fer- 
vor then 
" Almost we saw the shining of the New Jerusalem. 

" When from the watchman at the door arose a 

sudden cry, 
" The Indians ! the Indians ! The Indians are nigh ! 
" As when the fowler's net is cast above the trem- 
bling bird 
* There was a general expectation of the Revolution occurring 
some years later in England and a looking upon it as a fulfil- 
ment of prophesy. The two regicides then hiding in Hadley 
were believed to be the " two witnesses,' ' mentioned in Revela- 
tion. 



24 THE ANGEL OF RESCUE. 

" So stood we terror-stricken there and no one spake 

or stirred. 
" Then rushed against our savage foe, but vainly 

did we strive ; 
" Not a house had stood in Hadley, nor soul been 

left alive 
" Had God not sent to rescue us His mighty Angel 

down,§ 
" To rally us and lead us, save the people and the 

town. 
" To the Lord of Hosts give glory ; let the praise 

be His alone! 
" In time of our extremity was His deliverance 

shown." 

* This attack of the savages during a Fast-day service and the 
appearance of a strangely attired old man, (the regicide Goffe,) 
who led the settlers in the repulse of the Indians and myste- 
riously disappeared, is a well-known tradition of Hadley. Goffe 
and Whalley were then under sentence of death and officers of 
King Charles II hunting through New England for them. Only 
Mr. Russel and two others knew of their presence in Hadley 
and they were glad to foster the natural belief of the settlers 
that Goffe was an angel sent from heaven. 



Ifoepatica, 



OUT on the hills in the wild Spring weather 
So early only the blue-bird knew, 
Thousands of little flowers grew together, 
Purple, and pink, and white and blue. 

While the March storm raged, and fretted, and 
wept, 

And froze the song in the blue-birds' throats, 
'Neath mottled leaf-blankets they soundly slept, 

Close wrapped in their soft fur overcoats. 

Now the sun shines warm, and under our feet 
They nod and smile, though branches are bare, 

So daintily hued and faintly sweet, — 

What blossoms of Summer are half so fair? 

And the sweet, old sermon is preached again 
Of life from death, to the doubter's need. 

Of rest after struggle, and grief, and pain, 
The text, " The Lord is risen indeed ! " 



25 



Ube Bir&*5ona. 



RONDEAU. 



I LOVE my love and she loves me ! 
Oh, bluebird, sing it on the tree ! 
The wind-flowers drifted o'er the hills, 
The blare of sudden daffodils, 
Make to my heart one melody. 

Oh, blackbird, whistle wild and free! 
Oh, robin, carol merrily ! 

I hear it in your turns and trills— 
I love my love ! 

Fly hither, honey-laden bee ! 

A sweeter sweet I'll show to thee ; 

The happy secret throbs and thrills, 

And every lonely place it fills 
With joyous life and ecstacy — 
I love my love! 



26 



precefcent. 



WHO hath said that the Past is dead? 
Buried deep 'neath the withered years ? 
That the dead of the past are at rest 

With their loves and hates, their hopes and 
fears, 
And the living have naught for them now but fond 
mem'ries and tender tears ? 

Nay, our world is ruled by the dead, 
And they stretch strong hands from their 
graves ; 
They clutch To-day who had Yesterday, 
Yet who denies or their menace brakes ? 
See ye not that the dead are lords indeed and the 
living are but their slaves ? 

Men of the School, the Church, the State, 
In the path that your hands make clear 
Shall you order coming and going? 

Shall you then buy and sell without fear? 
Nay, the dead forbid ; witness their hands and seals 
on moldy parchment here ! 

27 



28 PRECEDENT. 

Love calls a youth and a maiden, 

Young Love, he laughs at age and death ; 
" They lived their lives, they rest in their graves, 
What have they to do with us," he saith; 
Poor blind Love, he will not learn, e'en now he is 
chilled by a graveyard breath. 

A mist-like breath from cedared vale, 

Where lie the scarce remembered dead ; — 
" Their grandsires were foes a century gone, 
Bitter foes alway, they must not wed " ; 
And the hateful ghoul of a long-dead feud with 
their fresh young hearts is fed ! 

Yea, the gold of the dead is cursed ! 

Ye must coin it anew with toil 
Would you loosen the grip of their hands 
And wipe from its shine the graveyard soil. 
It is theirs, not yours, ye are bound in lengthening 
links of an endless coil ! 



(Bofc's IRooster* 



UPON the old Hadley steeple, 
In the days of long ago, 
They placed a gilded weathercock, 
The way o' the wind to show. 

And there through many changing years 

It circled round about. 
The new Republic entered in; 

King George the Third went out. 

When peace led in prosperity, 

The elders all decree 
By vote that Hadley meeting-house 

Should straightway painted be. 

The paint was bought, the ladders set, 
The walls and soaring height 

Of the spire, up to the gilded ball, 
Shone forth a dazzling white. 

But when the work was just complete, 
A dreadful thing occurred; — 

As Hadley people rose that morn, 
They missed their ancient bird. 

29 



30 GOD'S ROOSTER. 

The letter W pointed east, . 

Westward the letter E, 
While N and S were turned about, 

And above them — vacancy! 

Mid many anxious glances cast, 
Head-shakes and whispers sage, 

The deacons four with stormy brows 
Met at the parsonage. 

Thence two went slowly up the street, 
And two went slowly down, 

Pausing at store and mill and barn 
And all the shops in town. 

Deacon Pentecost Pringidays — 
Held in such wholesome dread 

I think he never saw a boy 
With a hat upon his head — 

In Waitstill Leadbetter his shop, 
In the big chimney's shade, 

Saw two young men a-tying brooms, 
In Sunday garb arrayed! 

A heavy hand is on each arm; 

A keen eye runs them through ; 
A deep voice tolls the knell of doom : 

" You stole God's Rooster, you ! " 

Then Solomon Ward and Mindwell Bird, 
All trembling from the shock, 

Brought quickly from its hiding place 
The gilded weathercock. 



GOD'S ROOSTER. 



31 



Upon the old Hadley steeple, 
Where the merry breezes play, 

It stands, a solemn witness 
To the tale I tell to-day. 



Ube ©lb Bpple Uree* 



I SAW an aged apple tree in May, 
When all the air was shimmering with mist 
Of tender leaves, and pearl, and amethyst 
Shone in the grass where spring went on her way ; 
Gnarled, crooked, old, the emblem of decay, 
Standing unwelcome at the spring's sweet tryst : 
" In vain alas ! in vain the sun has kissed 
Thee, Nature's joyous Resurrection Day 
Finds no life here to waken, all in vain 
The great earth swells beneath, and on thy head 
Fall softly, coaxing fingers of the rain : " 
So mourned I for the tree I thought was dead. 
Yet June's first morning saw those boughs enclose 
A fragrant miracle of apple-blows ! 

n. 

A thought it wafts to me which stays, and clings,; 

A thought of those sad, unresponsive souls, 

To whose unseeing gaze Nature unrolls 

In vain her marvelous pictures, when the springs 

Wake life anew in all created things, 

And wind-flowers flutter white on all the knolls, 

When summer fills her roses' crimson bowls 

32 



THE OLD APPLE TREE. 

With perfume, and for joy the robin sings, 
When Autumn's altar fires are burning low, 
Or when the moon, sharp in the frosty sky, 
Etches the winter elms upon the snow, — 
They know it not, they eat, and drink, and die : 
Yet touched by God's own finger, in His spring, 
Their souls may burst to fragrant blossoming ! 



33 



Hnemone, 



WHITE as the flakes of Spring's belated 
snows, — 

Starry Anemone ! 
The frailest blossom that the wildwood knows, — 

Wind-tossed Anemone! 
So pale, so slight, this softest sighing breeze, 
Scent-laden from yon wilding cherry trees, 
Might strew thy delicate petals on the ground ; 
And yet we know thee always to be found 
In rocky clefts, on the wide wind-swept heights, 
Whose scanty soil no other bloom invites, 
Saving that gallant follower of thine, — 
Brave in his scarlet cap and golden bells, 
Wind shaken everywhere, the merry Columbine! 

On some great rock thy pink-tipped bells we find, 

Airy Anemone! 
Laughing and dancing in the mad May wind, 

O gay Anemone! 
But when the gale howls through these trees again, 
And tempests beat the earth with stinging rain, — 
Low-bending, drenched with rain, and tempest- 
tossed, 
Thy frail hold on the rock is never lost ! 

34 



ANEMONE. 35 

O Faith ! which trembling clings, and half-afraid, 
To those great rocks which have all souls upstayed 
For ages, this shall thine exemplar be : 
Wet with life's tears, and shaken in its storms, — 
Stand fast ! a face serene to heaven uplift ! 
Like thee, Anemone ! 



/IDemorial Da£, X893. 



ONCE more, my Country, keep 
Thy solemn tryst above the myriad mounds 
Where thy dead heroes sleep ! 
Doff thy plumed helm, lay by thy ready sword 
Which flashed but now, and sit thee lowly down 
Where these are lying, these, whose lives were ward 
For thee in utmost stress of darkest days; 
Yea, all thy sons in years and centuries gone 
Who died for thee ! Give them thy tender praise, 
Drop flowers and tears above them, call their names, 
Hold their high deeds on History's page of gold 
Again to light, and fan the constant flames 
On Freedom's altar till all time is told ! 

Come hither, blooming May! 

Bring all thy treasures, buds, and leaves, and 

flowers, 
For this most sacred day ! 
Heap southern roses, yellow, white and red, 
Over the soldier's bed. 

With jessamine stars, and rich magnolia bloom, 
Grand as the courage that turned never back 
Nor faltered, though the day was lost, and low 
The path declined in shades of doubt and gloom. 



MEMORIAL DAY, 1893. 37 

Bring the pale blossoms of the northern Spring! 

Pure as the faith that gave all, nor denied, 

Nor ever swerved aside; 

Sweet valley lilies, lilacs, faint with scent 

Of love war-wasted, columbines that swing 

Wind-shaken on the cliffs, anemones 

From cold New England hills, and bind with these 

The warriors' laurel ; count no bloom too rare 

Or costly for this strewing ! All were cheap 

Beside their awful gift ! The strong young West 

With blossoms bright and starry banner drooped 

Shall pause to honor heroes where they rest ; 

While nations throng to fill his banquet halls, 

Shall pause, and meditate 

On precious things and great 

Unmeasured in the markets of the world : 

Faith outweighs silver, love is more than gold, 

Honor hath worth untold, 

Life is too poor, held when thy country calls ! 



(Breslocfe. 



WHO fitly can declare 
The glory and the value to mankind 
Of the great hills that rear 
Above the bustle of the busy plain, 
Above the want and sorrow, and doubt, and sin, 
Above the struggle of toiling hand and brain, 
The infinite consolation of their calm ? 
Round all the earth, down all the hollow years 
Since Israel's King lifted his weary eyes 
To their eternal strength and sought the balm 
Of their sweet quiet, yea, to this our day, 
Shall men resort where these great preachers rise ; 
The everlasting truths that hold the world 
Teaching, in wordless sermon and silent psalm ! 

Come here where Greylock rolls 

Itself toward heaven ; in these deep silences, 

World-worn and fretted souls, 

Bathe and be clean! Cares drift like mists away. 

Reformers, hurrying the Millennium's dawn, — 

Urging to-morrow's blossom to bloom to-day, — 

Here gird your baffled, warring minds anew 

With God's enduring patience ! Linger here 

38 



GREYLOCK. 39 

When through light leaves the west wind whisper- 
ing goes,— 
When summer's breath the warm pine filters 

through, — 
When autumn tempests shiver against its sides, 
When terrible in inaccessible snows, — 
Ye who would learn the secret of the hills. 
God give you grace to know it and hold it true ! 



XTcll U0 tbe Storg, IDeterans ! 



TELL us the story, veterans ! 
Tell it all over again 
For the years are flying swiftly, 

And babes have grown to be men 
Since the days that we remember, 

Comrades, thirty years ago, 
When our land was rent asunder 

And a brother was the foe, 
Ah, those days of weary waiting! 

Days of death and wounds and pain, 
May such times of bitter sorrow 

Never cloud our land again. 

Thank God that our whole wide country 

Now is one in very truth ! 
Thank God, that a brighter future 

Is opening to her youth ! 
For another generation 

Shall the olden feud despise ; 
They shall bring their mother country 

Larger hearts and calmer eyes, 
And we scatter fragrant flowers 

Over, all these graves to-day, 
Nor ask if once the sods were heaped 

On the blue coat, or the gray. 

40 



TELL US THE STORY, VETERANS. 41 

So from field and wood and garden 

Bring all your wealth of flowers, 
To do them honor where they lie, 

Unforgotten dead of ours ! 
And then returning from their graves 

Old memories thrilling yet, 
Go, say to your children's children 

What they must never forget ! 
For flags are waving o'er new graves 

With each Memorial Day, 
Veteran ranks are growing thin, 

The youngest veteran gray ! 

So tell the story, veterans ! 

Call every noble name, 
Show them from what dread baptism 

Our mighty republic came ! 
Lead them through all the perilous path 

Our stern forefathers trod, 
And plant the love of country deep, 

Yes, next to the love of God! 



forefathers' Das* 



PILGRIMS were they? Yea, seers, 
The men who first this rocky pathway trod ! 
What vision held them by the winter sea 
Of their fair promised land, elect and good! 
Their brave hearts owned no doubts and conquered 

fears, 
The west wind, continent-blown, sang in their ears 
Its jubilant prophecy of years to be, 
Bless we the day our forefathers stood, free, 
On Plymouth Rock, with God! 

How ripens fruit to-day 

From that thrice-sifted seed ! How walks abroad 

Columbia, since her infant feet were set 

On those first, " stepping-stones " ! The nations 

awed 
Salute her splendor; yet around her way 
Dark phantoms lurk ; our fathers' God, we pray 
She may not falter, she may not forget ! 
Oh may her feet be planted firmly yet 

On Plymouth Rock, with God! 

1893 



42 



2>affafcown&tll£. 



PLAY-SONG FOR A LITTLE GIRL. 

OH Daffadowndilly! 
The air is so chilly, 
I very much fear 
You'll regret you are here 
And will wish yourself under ground, 
Daffadowndilly ! 

For Daffadowndilly, 

You surely are illy 

Prepared for the weather, 
Sleet, snow, hail, all together, 

You will certainly freeze, little 

Daffadowndilly ! 

Rash Daffadowndilly! 
I think you are silly; 

From your cream-colored nose 
To your little green toes, 
You're shivering, you know you are, 
Daffadowndilly ! 

43 



44 DAFFADO WNDILL Y. 

" Poor Daffadowndilly," 
— Says kind little Lily ; — * 

" Hear the wind how it roars ! 

" I will take you indoors, 
" Where you will be snug and warm, 
Daffadowndilly ! ' 



lUofC. 



TTbe Solfcier of tbe /l&onument. 



OFTEN thus we saw him stand 
In the old war-time gone by, 
Darkly drawn against the sky, 

With his musket in his hand ; 
On some rampart's sodded height, 
Glorified in sunset light, 

With the rapt look in his eyes, 
Gazing northward far away, 
Dreaming of the meeting day 

In the home that northward lies ; 
While to westward sinks the sun, 
And beneath the sunset gun 

Speaks the soldier's stern good-night. 

Dreaming of his home afar ; 
Turned to that slow-flowing river 
Where the laughing ripples quiver 

'Neath the lover's silver star. 
Truly shalt thou homeward come, 
But to beat of muffled drum ! 

In the bright September weather, 
When yon valley fills with fight, 
Trampling love and life and light 

In one rifle-pit together! 
Thus thy furlough has begun 
At the setting of the sun, 

So, young soldier, cam'st thou home! 

45 



46 



THE SOLDIER OF THE MONUMENT, 



Ever thus we see him stand! 
In the crowded busy street*; 
Halting there his marching feet, 

With his musket in his hand, 
Standing for our sons to see 
In long years that are to be ; 

With the rapt look in his eyes, 
Gazing forward, far away, , 
Dreaming of a meeting day 

In the home that heavenward lies. 
Stand, forever young and fair, 
Comrade, still that image bear 

To our last posterity! 



H H>fsappointefc Dauabter. 



MAMA, the girls at our school, 
For our Colonial Tea 
Say quaint old gowns will be the rule; 
So some came home with me. 

" You're ' Dame ' and ' Daughter ' both, you see ; 

And all my schoolmates know 
Our attic's full as it can be 

Of gowns worn long ago. 

" I chose an armful — just about, 

To show the girls downstairs. 
They're all the latest style that's out — 

What everybody wears ! 

" There is our grand French ancestress, 

Madame la Comtesse B . 

I thought, of course, her bridal dress 

Would be the thing for me. 

" I shook it out and brought it down. 

Mama, to my dismay, 
'Twas just a white silk Empire gown — 

One sees them every day! 

" And so we don't know what to do ; 

'T would vex a very saint ! 
How, when things century-old look new, 

Can we be odd or quaint ? " 

47 



Corn tfoe Iftatfonal Emblem* 



o 



H laughing, yellow bearded Corn! 
Thou art the heir, the' eldest born. 
On every side through all our land 
Thy serried ranks rejoicing stand, 

Thou lusty darling of the Morn ! 



The dainty flowers we laugh to scorn; 
Thou fillest Plenty's golden horn, 
And food and drink are in thy hand 
Oh laughing yellow bearded Corn ! 

Our oriflamme shalt thou be borne; 

No race a nobler crest has worn 
Since Henry bore to high command 
Plant-a-genet in old England, 

Come, and our goddess' cap adorn 

Oh laughing, yellow bearded Corn ! 



48 



XTbe ftesson of 1bistot£* 



O BLIND and slow of heart to understand 
The one great lesson by all history taught — 
Who would let fall from idle, careless hand 
The rich inheritance, hard- won, blood-bought! 

The righteous nations rise, the unrighteous fall; 

Through every age this solemn warning rings ; 
From Egypt's pyramid, from China's wall, 

From silent sepulchers of conquering kings! 

Star after star of empire climbs the ascent, 
On the proud zenith in full splendor burns 

Its one brief hour, then, strength and virtue spent, 
Yet all unconscious, toward its setting turns. 

Thy glory brightens like a rising star, 

Dear country ! All thy children joy to see. 

While seers who watch thy motion from afar 
Predict that high meridian place for thee. 

Is there no lesson we were wise to heed 
In desolate palaces and crumbling thrones ? 

Rome, Venice, Spain — who runs may surely read 
The lesson graven on their " famous stones " ! 

And, O my country, in thine onward path 

Lie dragons, centuries old, and gorged with hate. 

God grant thee mercy in His day of wrath ! 

God raise thee champions for thine hour of fate ! 
4 49 



On Southampton Beacb* 



ONE morning by the summer sea 
I read of glory and the brave ; 
Old visions of the past, to me 
Came rolling in on every wave. 

Headlong upon the shining strand, 
The billows rush with angry frown; 

Like warriors from some far-off land, 
They cast their ponderous armor down. 

Those warrior billows wide dispread, 
Sweep on in long embattled lines, 

The firm earth quakes beneath their tread, 
And dusky green their banner shines. 

The knightly leader rides before, 
His flowing robe all jewelled gleams, 

And on the breeze that blows from shore 
His snowy plume behind him streams. 



50 



Hrbor Bas* 



WHILE Edward chose an apple tree, 
And John a Bartlett pear, 
And Will a shag-bark hickory, 
Tim, of the auburn hair, 

Said, " If you leave the choice to me 

I'll quickly, if you please, 
Plant chemis-tree, geomo-tree 

And ancient hist-trees ! " 

Then gaily spoke the little May — 

A three-year-old was she — 
" I'll go out early Arbor Day 

And plant a Family tree." 



51 



XTbe IbaMes Elms, 



THE Hadley elms ! in what forgotten year 
Men planted them to make our village fair 
We cannot know. The sun, and earth, and air 
Have fostered them, and those who set them here 
Have fled so far beyond, even history's ear 
Scarce knows their footfall. Lasting, precious, 

rare — 
This gift they left. What glory shalt thou wear, 
Oh Hadley — Hadley, that we hold so dear 
From this our generation? These gifts, these, 
Would we leave with thee for thy joy and praise, 
For the Republic's need in bitter days, 
True men, good women, beneath the Hadle> 

trees, — 
When danger threats, and sorrow overwhelms, 
To stand strong, beautiful, as Hadley elms ! 

Hadley Parsonage, 



52 



WIS 



10 



0* .•••♦ *o 




<$> *o,o» ^' 










V,<£ 
















> 





Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
«^ Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 

* $ PreservationTechnologies 






111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724) 779-2111 



k 































Hq, 



>■' -^ ~ V 




JP^. 3 



OinKWInUiUlnl 



KM 



•';■;''. 



I 



IIBI 
I 

H H 



HI 












■ 



■ 

H ■ 

mm !■ H 

HI 
■ 

Swift Hmii 

HI I 

Hi 

■I 

11 III 



inffi 









n 



